


Deliquescent

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Hannibal stop manipulating Will, M/M, Scene rewrites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during ep. 9, a rewrite of two scenes- Will's confrontation of Hannibal about Nicholas Boyle's death, and the following dinner scene with Abigail and Freddie.</p><p>Will muses as to why it matters so much to him that Hannibal is involved, and why he did not go to Jack, even when he was sure. He then is forced to deal with the consequences of that night, unsure what is really going on between Hannibal and himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Entice

**Author's Note:**

> So, rewriting scenes from the show is one of my favorite things to do now! It takes way longer than I ever would've thought to transcribe it, then add in all my narrational bits, and then continue it...  
> Anyway, this is Will's confrontation with Hannibal, and all the things that could have been going through his head, before we diverge from canon with what, honestly, should have happened :)  
> (PS, this is one of my favorite scenes of the whole season, it was a blast to work with.)

“Hello Will.” 

The sound of the door closing told Will he had really come, he was really in this office. Hannibal’s voice told him this was reality, this man was here.

_He wished it wasn’t_.

He took a few steps in, looked at Hannibal, a plethora of things flowing through his veins and swimming in his mind. “Abigail Hobbs killed Nick Boyle.”

He stared at Hannibal, managed to hold his gaze as the silence lapsed, as the man tapped his finger against the tip of his pencil, regarding Will with something the man couldn’t read. _Was it curiosity_? Will hated the silence, but reveled in it, because it did not confirm his fears. It did not breathe a truth he did not want to bear.

“Yes, I know.”

He said it with little emotion, with no reflection. Simply, it was a known fact. Will nodded, trying to digest the words, before his face twisted in his confusion. “Tell me why you know?” He looked down, eyes fluttered, forced himself to look back at the man that looked _so calm_ behind his desk, holding his pencil as if the conversation they were having did not paint a child as a murderer.

“I...helped her dispose of the body.” Will gave another little nod, fighting to keep his fists from clenching as he took a few more steps into the room. No, this had to be _wrong_.

“Evidently,” he nearly spat, “Not. Well. Enough.”

He stopped a few feet from Hannibal’s desk, stranding in front of him. “Have you told Jack Crawford?”

Will hesitated, shook his head slowly. “No,” he almost whispered. No, not without knowing for sure. Not without seeing the truth and having the chance to deny it.

“Why not?”

Will’s jaw moved, but no words came out. He stared at Hannibal for another second, finally managing, “Because I hoped it wans’t true.” He kept that dark, burgundy gaze, and realized he was shaking a little. He _still_ hoped it wasn’t true. He hoped Hannibal was lying.

Hannibal gaze a small nod, a quiet smack of his lips, and reached down to adjust the scalpel he used to sharpen his pencils _ever so slightly_. “Well,” he said, standing, “Now you know the truth.” There was little emotion still, nothing for Will to clutch to or read, nothing for him to breathe in and work with.

“Do I?” Will asked, anger and disdain and sadness all wrapped into two words that hurt his throat and tongue when he uttered them. He was afraid to hear more. He was afraid of what the truth meant for Abigail, for him-

For Hannibal.

“Everything you know about that night is true, except the end. Nicholas Boyle attacked us. Abigail’s only crime was to defend herself, and I lied about it.”

“Why?” Will asked, genuinely confused, wanting the truth. Wanting Hannibal to explain, to make the world clear in that way only he could. He wanted Hannibal to make him _understand_ , to hold him down to the ground, the hear and now, and let him _see_.

Hannibal scuffed. “You know why.” His voice had dropped, it was deeper, it sank into Will and made him want to shiver, clawed through his pores and into his veins because somewhere inside Will truly _did_ know why. “Because Jack Crawford would hang her for what her father’s done. And the world would burn Abigail in his place. That would be the story. That would be what Freddie Lounds writes.”

Will had turned away, couldn’t see Hannibal moving but heard him, felt him. He gave a small nod, one he wasn’t sure if Hannibal even saw, and then looked back, hoping to see the man closer than he was. The distance allowed him to turn back, to walk away form the man’s pull, despite that he felt dizzy and sick.

“Abigail’s no more a killer than you are for shooting her father,” Hannibal said, following Will as he walked away from him. “Or I am for the death of Tobias Budge.”

Will had reached the window, wanting to lose himself in the dark that had fallen over the city. He turned, facing Hannibal as the man approached, remembering the state of this very office after the attack. Hannibal’s state- that Will had run the risk of losing him. “It isn’t our place to decide,” he said, a croak in his voice, his anger misplaced. He wanted to be angry at Hannibal, he tried to be in the tone of his voice, but his gut wasn’t irate, it was empty and clenching painfully because _he could have lost him_.

“If not ours then whose?” Hannibal stepped closer, emotion finally slipping into his voice. “Who knows Abigail better than you and I?” He paused for a moment, Will knew he was letting the words sink in. “Or the burden she bares?” He swallowed, Will didn’t see, couldn’t see, his gaze still focused on the nothingness outside, and he wished he could see the way Hannibal’s throat moved. Movement meant life. Life meant his presence. His presence meant grounding. Without Hannibal, Will wasn’t sure he’d know what was real. “We are her fathers now. We have to serve her better than Garrett Jacob Hobbs.”

He rolled back a step, looked away from Will, and the special investigator missed those eyes. He could feel them when they gazed into him, filled him with a maelstrom of emotions he couldn’t always decipher- but without them, it was always the same. Cold and empty and desolate.

Hannibal took a step away again, slipped his hands into his pockets- it could have been a nervous gesture, if Will examined it, if he could see him from more than the corner of his eye. He heard him sigh. “If you go to Jack than you murder Abigail’s future.”

_Murder_. The word rolled over his head, under his tongue, down his throat and into his belly where it dissolved. _Murder_. Somehow, he’d be guilty too. By association, he’d murder a different sort of life and be just as guilty as the man and girl in question. “Do I need to call my lawyer, Will?” He missed the way Hannibal swallowed the lump in his throat, missed the entire world for a moment as he froze and closed in on him. Could he tell Jack? Could he ruin the girl’s future over a mistake that- while yes, ended in death- had been exactly that, a mistake? Had Hannibal been wrong when he reasoned that hiding the body was better for Abigail? Will couldn’t question his affection for the girl if he was willing to risk himself in such a way, couldn’t fault him on love.

Will turned back, looking at Hannibal as he looked away. He was shaking and fought so hard to keep the man from seeing. Hannibal turned slightly, looked at him, had this serene sadness on his face that made Will’s chest ache. He didn’t think the man meant for him to see it, and most people might not have- but it was in the corner of his mouth, the darks of his eyes. It was _there_. It was Will’s chance to protect him, to ground him. It was Will’s _choice_.

He couldn’t manage words. His tongue was numb, felt dead. All he could do was a stiff shake of his head, receiving a slight nod of affirmation in return. “We can tell no one,” Hannibal said, and Will turned away again, the realization of what he was doing, what he was agreeing to, sinking in. But there was no taking his acceptance back- even if there was, he knew he would not. He would not risk Abigail, she deserved more, he felt he owed it to her-

He would not risk Hannibal.

Hannibal walked over, close, closer to Will than he had been in quite a while. Close enough so that when he placed his hand on Will’s shoulder anf gripped it he could smell his cologne, a scent that made his head foggy and slow, thick with something akin to need that Will would not name. Something so similar to want that it made his chest hurt- hurt more than it ever had.

“What we are doing here is the right thing,” he reassured him. “In time this will be the only story any of us cares to tell.” Will didn’t say anything, felt like Hannibal’s hand was holding him in place, down on Earth. This was real. He wasn’t imagining it, he wasnt crazy. If he was, Hannibal was too- they were _sharing_ this reality.

Hannibal’s hand began to lift, and Will reached up, laying his hand over it, keeping it in place. He looked at Hannibal, turning his head ever so slightly and looking through his lashes and the corners of his eyes. Hannibal regarded the touch, then squeezed Will’s shoulder, and Will squeezed his hand, wanting the man’s flesh to be able to pass through his jacket and shirt, into his own, through muscle and down to bone. He wanted Hannibal inside his marrow was a _voice_ he could listen to, whispers of reason.

“I can hear you thinking,” Hannibal remarked, and in one quick, fluid motion, he was turning Will and guiding him just a few steps back. Will’s heels hit the ladder leading up to the loft and he fell back against it, the rungs digging into his back. He stared at Hannibal, who was regarding him with a mild interest, his eyes flicking along Will’s face, shoulders, chest. Will should have been alarmed, but he felt nothing but a thick fog of calm settling over him. Only when Hannibal leaned closer and he could smell his cologne again did his heartbeat pick up. “Tell me what is on your mind, Will.”

_Everything and nothing. The world and you- which are the same thing, Doctor. I’m sure you could have a field day with this_. Will swallowed, worked his throat to remind it how to move, how to listen to his commands, and Hannibal reached out, grasping a wrung above his head and leaning in until his face so was close to Will’s that he could feel the psychiatrist’s breath against his lips. Their torsos pressed together, and Will wondered if he should be alarmed.

“You,” Will finally said, without elaboration. Hannibal nodded, slightly, as if he knew and had just wanted Will to confirm his suspicions. Hannibal’s other hand reached for the ladder, brushed Will’s arm as he grasped it’s side, and Will inched closer to it, wanting the contact.

“What about me, Will?” he finally asked, without a sense of urgency, as if it had just crossed his mind and he decided to _entertain_ the question. 

“How you ground me,” Will said, “You tell me what reality is- I wouldn’t know anymore without your help.” He almost laughed, nervous suddenly, as if his slumbering nerves had suddenly awoken. “How I wish you were in my bones so I never had to _question_ what is real. How I want you inside me.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth did he see something in those otherwise almost unattached eyes. Something dark and primal flashed, and suddenly Will was pressed almost painfully into the ladder, flush chest to chest with the doctor as Hannibal pressed his mouth to Will’s. Will froze beneath him, his breath stuck in his throat. Hannibal’s mouth moved smoothly, coaxing, and tentatively Will pushed back, moved his lips in response and felt the hand near his arm slipping to his waist, under his jacket.

When it gripped him Will felt a spark of life in his chest, and he lifted his head, pushing back harder against Hannibal, trying to take a sliver of control for himself. The chance was gone when Hannibal’s tongue traced the seam of his lips, and Will opened _without question_ , letting it slip inside and fill him with the other man’s taste. He shivered, a stunted groan escaping his throat that Hannibal swallowed down hungrily as his tongue slid along Will’s, tested the sharpness of his teeth.

Will was dizzy, pushed his body against Hannibal, his hips rocking gently, He felt disconnected, as if he was watching this scene without a say in how it played out. A part of him was screaming, was confused, wanted to tear them apart, shove the man back, _didn’t want this_. But most of him drank it down with greed, had meant it when he said he wanted Hannibal inside him- so deep inside he could never escape. 

Will lifted his arms, clutched at the man’s vest, breath escaping against his lips as Hannibal rocked his hips back, sweetly, just once, his teeth dragging along Will’s lower lip as he pulled back. He gave him one look, one flick of his burgundy eyes, and then he was pulling back, stepping away from him, leaving Will breathless and paralyzed. He turned and headed back towards his desk, and if it wasn’t for the slightly rough rise and fall of his chest, Will could have believed it never happened.

He licked his lips, tasted him, couldn’t get it out of his throat. His hands were shaking as he lowered them slowly, as he pushed off the ladder. He watched Hannibal for a moment, then looked back out the window, settling into the mindset that they would not acknowledge what had just happened. It would disappear, just like Will’s knowledge of the truth- that Abigail had killed Nick Boyle, that Hannibal had helped her hide the body- it would all be locked away where he couldn’t reach it, where it couldn’t hurt him.

He reached up and touched his lips, his whole mouth still tingling, tasting like Hannibal, the scent of his cologne unshakable. Will wanted to bury his face into the crook of his neck, inhale, be surrounded, be grounded. He needed it again. 

He didn’t know if any of this was even _real_.


	2. Compliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the very following scene, dinner with Freddie & Abigail.

He had tried to not look at Hannibal when he left the room, and tried equally hard to not look at him when he reentered. He had wanted- no, _needed_ to distance himself from Hannibal, to bury that night in his office so deep it couldnt be touched. He needed it, but he didn’t want it. He wanted to revel in a kiss he hadn’t known he’d desired, in the feeling of Hannibal’s hand on his waist that seemed to tell him where the ground was, where reality was-

It was hidden under Hannibal’s tongue.

When the psychiatrist had insisted upon dinner, with Miss Lounds and Abigail, to discuss this book the girl seemed so intent on letting the journalist write, there had been no way out of it. It didn’t help that Hannibal seemed perfectly alright acting as if the one kiss had never happened.

So Will was making a point to not look at him, to keep his gaze on _anything_ else so his memories didn’t show. When he had had to return to the kitchen upon the revelation that Ms. Lounds was in fact a vegetarian, Will had looked at his wine glass. Now, he looked at his food- his only other options Ms. Lounds, whom he would prefer to not have to acknowledge _at all_ , and Abigail- whom he did not want to unnerve.

“Research always delivers benefits,” the redhead was saying as she lifted her fork to her mouth. Will glanced up, caught Hannibal’s movement, and fought down the urge to watch him glide into his seat. Instead he focused on Freddie, because he knew he’d _have_ to eventually.

“If it contradicts a good story, hell, publish it anyway,” he inserted, unable to keep the irritation from his voice as he cut into his food.

“Are you still angry I called you insane?” she asked with an amused smile. Will saw Abigail watching, nervously, as if she had no desire to be at this dinner either. That made two of them. “The liable laws are clear, Mr. Graham.”

“Insinuation is such a grey area,” he replied, fighting off the urge to mutter. Next to him, Hannibal watched, Will could feel it, knew when his eyes watched Freddie, when they moved to Abigail-

When they flicked to him.

“Insane isn’t really black or white, is it? We’re all pathological, in our own ways.”

“You choose the version of the truth that suits you best and pursue it pathologically.” He took a bite of his food, hoping it might calm him, but he couldn’t taste it. All he could taste was Hannibal’s tongue, his lips, and his stomach tightened. He flicked a glance at the man, lifting his wine glass to swirl the scent into his nose, before sipping, as if he wanted no part in the conversation, as if he, for once, may have wanted to disappear.

Will wasn’t so sure he really believed that.

“Everyone decides their own versions of the truth. I’m here because I want to tell Abigail’s version of the truth.” She looked at the girl and smiled, and Abigail gave her a nervous smile back. Will knew that feeling, of eyes on you and feeling powerless, all you’re able to do is give a fake half smile and wonder if it will ever end. Except, unlike Abigail, he hadn’t wanted it to.

He realized he had been watching her, and looked down, embarrassed for a moment. Perhaps her nerves came from him, just as much as Ms. Lounds. “See that you do.” He looked away again, and the look Freddie gave him said his eyes gave away enough- that he wanted something good for Abigail so badly it hurt. Because he had taken so much from her. Because fate had taken so much from her.

“I don’t have anything to hide,” Abigail said, as if needing to finally have her own voice. Will knew that feeling, too.

“Everyone has something to hide.” Will looked up at that, and he could feel that hand on his waist, that body pressed up against his tightly, holding him down, _anchoring_ him. “But I won’t tell anything you don’t want me to.”

“You must understand our concerns,” Hannibal said, accented voice breaking into Will’s head and wrapping talented fingers around his brain. “We care about Abigail, our only thought is to protect her.”

He was watching Freddie, and Will was jealous of that gaze. It lacked the dark edge it had had in his office, but _those eyes_ , he wanted them on him. And yet he didn’t.

Will didn’t know what he wanted at all.

“She’s already exposed. Her silence until now has been taken as guilt. This book is about her innocence. I want Abigail to have a future.”

“That’s what we all want,” Will said, lifting his wine glass for a drink to calm his nerves. All it did was make him wonder how Hannibal’s mouth would taste after the wine.

“Well, we all want what’s best for Abigail.” Hannibal looked at Freddie quickly, then at Abigail, who was looking at Will, before looking back to her plate. Will knew his eyes would flick to him next, and he braced himself, dreading it and wanting it-

“This is possibly the finest salad I’ve ever eaten,” Freddie said, and Hannibal looked at her instead of Will, making the man’s belly ache at the denial. “Shame to ruin it with all that meat.”

Will, for a moment, wanted nothing more than to completely ruin her.

Ms. Lounds left first. Will thought to escape with her, but dreaded the idea of being along for even a moment with her. And sitting next to Hannibal, smoldering in his suppressed need, he knew he wouldn’t be able to take the silence. He needed to confront him, and now- before he lost his nerve. So he hung back as Abigail picked up a few plates, ready to assist Hannibal with the clean up.

“I can do that,” Will said, not looking at her, but her hands on the plates. Abigail looked as Hannibal as he walked out, who nodded.

“Go on Abigail,” he said, “Will and I will take care of this." She set the plates down and turned, walking out of the room. Will didn’t know to where, but the fact that she was out of sight was enough. He picked up what she had been touching, following Hannibal into the kitchen, setting the gently on the counter. The man wasn’t looking at him, was moving about as if Will wasn’t even there, and it made him a little _irate_.

“Are we just going to pretend is never happened?” He asked, just as Hannibal was about to return to the table.

“Pretend what never happened, Will?” He looked at him, calm and collected, and Will felt he was surely falling apart. He fisted his hands at his side, trying to remember exactly how to breathe.

“That you pinned me down and- and _kissed_ me.” It felt oddly good saying it- he hadn’t, even to himself, or the dogs. But saying it meant it was real.

“Ah, that,” Hannibal said, before he turned and _left_ Will alone in the kitchen. Will gawked, not bothering to compose himself when Hannibal returned, setting the two of the wine glasses on the counter.

“Yeah, _that_ ,” he nearly spat.

“I was unaware it had impacted you so much, Will.” He turned, regarded Will carefully, and went to return back to the dining room. Will reached out then, grabbed his wrist to keep him from leaving.

“Don’t just walk away,” he snapped, and Hannibal looked down at the hand gripping him, then back up to Will’s face. “Did it mean anything yo _you_?”

“Should it have, Will?” Will gritted is teeth, jaw clenched painfully tight. Should it have meant anything at all to Will, as well? He wasn’t sure- he knew if someone had brought up the prospect of Hannibal kissing him before he would have flinched away- but now-

Now it _definitely_ meant something.

“Yes,” Will finally sputtered, “It should have.” His grip loosened on Hannibal’s wrist, before finally releasing him, returning his stare for a moment before he flicked his eyes away.

“You’re reaching out to me because I make you feel grounded, Will.” Will blanched, _was he really going to analyze this_? “You’re looking for someone to anchor-“

“Don’t psychoanalyze this!” Will snapped. “Dammit Hannibal, you know just as well as I do that you _ground_ me. I’d be a mess if I didn’t have you.” He glared, held the man’s gaze. “And _I_ didn’t do this, _you’re_ the one who kissed me-“

He was cut off when Hannibal closed in, pushing him back so he was pinned against the counter. The older man leaned closer, so his chest brushed along Will’s, sent frantic butterflies flailing up from his stomach and into his throat.

“Do you remember what you said, Will?” The way his name rolled off his tongue made Will’s stomach tighten, heat pooling in his belly and below. He tried to shift away, afraid Hannibal would be able to feel just how much the close proximity affected him.

“No,” Will said, because his mind couldn’t _think_.

“You said you wanted me inside of you.” He tilted his head down, skimmed along Will’s hair and jawline, drinking down his scents- the sweetness only he could smell on the man. “You should be more careful what you say.”

He nipped Will’s earlobe, and the man whimpered, pushing his hips into Hannibal’s without thought. The man chuckled. “Or perhaps you meant it, William.” Hannibal’s lips touched his neck, brushed it, felt his pulse racing, and Will squeezed his eyes shut because he _wanted_ but he was terrified. He needed but he didn’t know how or what, exactly.

All he knew that everything was Hannibal, the scent in the air and the taste his tongue remembered and the echoes in his brain. Everything was this man, and Will would do anything to keep it that way.

Hannibal straightened, moved back so Will was free. He stood for a moment, torn, before Will, for once, forgot his nerves and just how _hard_ it was to actually interact with anyone, and closed the space, wrapping his arms around the slightly taller man and nuzzling into the crook of his neck- as he had wanted to before. Hannibal was warm, solid, so real, and Will wanted to melt into him. The psychiatrist stood there for a moment, unmoving, before Will felt one arm go around his shoulders, one finding the small of his back and, rubbing gently. Will breathed a sigh of relief, shifted so he was closer, and those arms tightened around him.

“Do you want it to mean something to me, Will?” He leaned down, spoke into Will’s curls, and the man was nodding before he could realize it. He found the skin of Hannibal’s neck and kissed gently, taste his skin and wanted more, but didn’t think he could handle it, not now. He moved so Hannibal could kiss into his curls, gently, much softer than the touches had been before. Affectionate. “Very well, Will.” He exhaled, and Will felt him relaxing a little around him, “Very well.”


End file.
